In Memory of a Mother | Part 6

2012, it was the night right before her son got on a train and left the small town for Beijing.

She had shot him a fusillade of questions, like if it was her that he wanted to run away from, if she did him all wrong all along, and if he had no sentimental attachment to his parents at all. He answered that he simply wanted to know how narrow-minded and tunnel-visioned and short-sighted and unqualified and incompetent and unintelligent he actually was, and the best place where he could find out about that was a metropolis like Beijing.

"I can afford to be weak and stupid, but I cannot get away with not knowing how weak and stupid I am exactly. And the only way I can know about that is to throw myself into a shark tank where cutthroat competition will help me know my numbers."

He lied. He was sure that the right end of a healthy, mature relationship between a mother and a son was no more than a clear-cut separation. There was no turning back. And he knew she would understand not in a thousand years.

And that was the night when he confirmed that his mother was having a secret romance with a man.

That man was older than her, and used to be the superintendent of the department she worked in. Having his silver hair combed backwards, he conducted himself with grace and dignity. When he talked, she seemed to drink in his poise, savvy, humor and gentility.

She had asked her son to seek help from that man, when this graduate started to find a job in the man's city in 2011. After 3 of them had several dinners together, her son sensed something special between them. The man jibed and taunted her girly naivety with good-natured banter, and she giggled, hinting at her appreciation of his witticism, affluence, sophistication, and masculinity.

When a woman falls in love with a man, a constellation of stars shine through her eyes, silky wavelets ripple through her voice, rosy radiance glistens on her cheeks, a faint aroma emanates from all over her, and no matter how hard she tries to conceal it, every inch of her comes vibrant and gives her away.

That night, in the train station, her son peeked at her mobile phone. There was a message sent to this man:

My son has left me. You shall know that I have you in my heart.

But she never took a leap of faith and plunged into the unknown future with this man, who truly excited her. The ice, acid and rock in her character had snuffed the fire, doused the hope, and stoned the affection.

A few years later, her son poked at her a question:

"You have feelings for him, don't you? And don't lie to me. I can tell if you do."

She said nothing. Then he knew her answer was a yes.

Perhaps he didn't care about what her response might be. At that moment, he simply took perverse pleasure in catching a woman reducing herself into an incorrigible liar as she'd always do when talking about love.

That man never showed up, before or after her funeral.